


Ashes, Ashes, We All Fall Down

by FluffyGlitterPantsDragon



Category: Lucifer (TV)
Genre: All the triggers for real, Also just plain hurt, Gen, Hell Flashback, Hell is not a nice place y'all, Hell references, Here there be dragons, Hurt/Comfort, I'm not even kidding about the triggers, Lucifer wasn't always nice, Neither is earth really, Rape, References to Auschwitz, Spoilers for Season 3, Torture, Underage tag is only for mentions of child abuse, Violence, What did I do?, non-con, season 4
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-02
Updated: 2018-08-02
Packaged: 2019-06-20 14:36:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,888
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15536403
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FluffyGlitterPantsDragon/pseuds/FluffyGlitterPantsDragon
Summary: Chloe and Lucifer have a chat a week or so after she saw his Devil face. He wants to convince her that he is not worthy of her or anyone else, telling stories about what happens in Hell, and what tortures he committed himself in Hell. two stories are related through conversation and the Hell Flashback is not.





	Ashes, Ashes, We All Fall Down

**Author's Note:**

> Just_Mad_Enough is best beta. For real. I've never written anything this dark before, like in my life, and she held my hand through it, going, 'nah, you can go darker.' She also wrote the title. I swear if I win the contest I owe her a pony. Fuck, I owe her a unicorn.

They sat apart.

Chloe perched on the edge of one of Lucifer’s chairs. Him, on an opposite chair.

The red skin had gone wherever it goes. He _wasn’t_ the Devil to her. But he was still the Devil to  _him._

She found herself unwitting second chair counselor to the ex-lord of the underworld. But here they were.

Holding a glass of whiskey, with the bottle on the floor, he didn’t respond verbally when she arrived. A wash of emotions played across his face. She stood there in his living room. “Lucifer-”

He spoke, repeating her own words back at her, like a broken record. ‘It’s all true.”

“But-”

“I need you to understand that.”

She sat. “No one else needed to.”

Roughly, “That’s right. They didn’t.”

She tried to go to him, in the aftermath. She had raced across town, breaking every speed limit, and burst in. The place was empty, but he’d been there. Blood spattered feathers littered the floor, along with dozens of scattered bullets. Feeling useless and miffed, she swept up the debris, awkwardly dumping feathers and bullets together into a trash bag. She didn’t take it out, just left it and hoped it didn’t stink up the place over the next few days. Not knowing if his blood would even do that. Would the feathers start to rot like a cut off finger? Would the blood spoil? Or would they stay the way they were right this moment, ephemeral and gruesome in their blood splattered glory?

She didn’t know where he went, and he didn’t say.

He missed Charlotte’s funeral. And her ex-fiance's. But she missed that one herself.

A week later, he returned her latest frantic, angry text. She had been spinning one of his (cleaner) bloody feathers at her desk when the message came through. His reply was a short one. Simply: “I’m here.”

She went to his penthouse immediately, leaving work without a second thought.

He wasn’t happy to see her, but he allowed her entry. He didn’t pretend that she didn’t see what she saw. Neither did she.

He didn’t let her touch him. He didn’t smile. She missed that the most in his absence. She could count on that - his ready smile with his eyes alight and shining when he had an idea or plan. Usually a bad idea he couldn’t be talked out of, and the less said about his _plans_ , the better.

The look on his face was one of impending doom.

Physically, he looked normal. Hair groomed and in place, dressed in a matching charcoal waistcoat and trousers, a little lighter in color than what he wore when the attack happened. When her world turned upside down, and she hadn’t landed on her feet just yet. Her friend looked a little tired, but she’d seen variations of that in the past. His dark eyes settled on his drink, the spark absent.

She clasped her hands in her lap. “I missed you. This past week. I’m glad you came back. I want to talk to you about everything.”

Lucifer snorted. “Lying doesn’t become you, Detective.”

Chloe sat back. “I’m not lying! I missed you. I’m here, and I want to talk to you.” _And I want to go to you._

“Mistaken then. I sincerely doubt you want to hear _everything.”_

“Then why did you let me know you were back at all?”

He didn’t know that either. He found and finished off a spare bag of oxy, enjoying a twelve-minute high before he crashed down, sending the text somewhere in the middle. He didn’t say that out loud. At least he didn’t drunk dial a Brittany. “I shouldn’t have.”

She held her hands together with a sigh. It looked nearly as though she’s praying. If this had been a typical day, he’d have commented that praying never helped anyone. Now, he didn’t spare the gesture a single glance. “Well, you did. And now I’m here, and I cleaned up your stupid feathers and-”

“There’s an old saying. ‘When someone tells you what they are, you should believe them.’ I’ve told you I’m a monster.”

“Lucifer! You are _not-“_

“Stop.” He took a drink, looking her dead in the eye, and asked, “What’s the most pain you’ve ever felt in your life?”

Chloe didn’t expect the question. His eyes lay onyx, flat and without emotion. She had to switch gears from whatever she might have thought would come out of his mouth. A few options stood out. “I...don’t know. I was shot in the line of duty, before I met you, earlier in my career. My humerus fractured pretty badly and I had surgery. At the time it was awful, but the EMT’s had me on morphine pretty quick. It aches from time to time, but the pain is manageable.” She tried to lighten the anecdote by adding with a smile, “It was way worse than childbirth. That was over in thirty hours, and I got something good out of it, after all the blood, sweat, and tears.”

He swallowed, his eyes drifting away from her face, voice full of acid. “There’s a woman in Hell who is constantly in labor.”

She sat silently, unsure if she should respond or how. This was the first time he talked about it openly, she thought. She tried to sift back through her memory, looking for any other time he mentioned something that happened in Hell, but nothing leapt to mind.

Her labor had been awful. Long and without a c-section. She felt like she sweated gallons of fluid during the end. She, like women before her, experienced the benefit of post-pregnancy memory loss. Once a child is born, the brain makes the body start forgetting how much childbirth _sucked._

He went on. “No epidurals. No family members to comfort her, just a dirt-floored hovel. She is dirty, alone and dependant on mere oil-burning lamplight that throws off soot and stink. It’s always down to the last ounce and she knows it. Sometimes it goes out and leaves her in complete blackness. She’s always too weak to get up and shakes when she tries. Hungry wolves howl in the hills and it’s winter outside. Her husband is absent. Sometimes the wolves come in and tear her apart. She dies and it starts all over again.”

He didn’t sound regretful at all, like he was telling her about a scene in a movie.

She didn’t want to ask. Her soul lurched and wouldn’t let her not. “Why?”

Lucifer paused again, long enough that she wasn’t sure if he would continue. She wasn’t sure if she wanted him to. Scenarios flew through her head of what a woman could have done in life to merit that kind of sentence. None of them good, but nothing she constructed in her brain came close to what he told her.

“She killed her husband. She murdered her children. All of them. She’s been in labor for six hundred years, approximately.” He tried a smirk. “Most humans today wouldn’t survive not being within a mile of a Starbucks. The company doesn’t know it, but they’re in Hell now too, mostly as a backdrop; some souls that punish themselves generated them. So now there’s espresso in Hell.”

She didn’t know how long she sat, processing that. That long ago, people had a lot more kids, and not that many lived to adulthood. She had only Trixie and had only tried for one kid. She and Dan didn’t want another right away; then life got complicated. Women in those days were baby factories, and not all children were even born alive. She couldn’t fathom the daily stress she would have been under if she had been born back then, as a woman. “How many?”

“Eight. The youngest was a few months old. The setup was Maze’ idea. I approved it, of course. I added the bit about the unending darkness and stopped by when it began to see that it lived up to my expectations. Maze never disappointed me, not once. I toyed with the idea of allowing her to give birth once in a while, only to have it lie dead in her arms. Leaving her with deceptively long periods between contractions from time to time seemed suitable enough. Her hell-loop is devious and appropriate to the atrocity. And it _was_ an atrocity. She didn’t just silently murder her offspring in their sleep. They were grain farmers. She killed the baby in the millstone. She will never touch a child again.”

It was too much. Her brain just froze. “Why are you telling me this?”

“It was my _job_ to deal with her soul. Ones like her who went the extra mile, who turned truly evil.” He looked up again. “Hitler is hardly alone down there.”

She tried to tackle the practical part of the presentation. What was the term he used? “What’s a Hell-loop?”

Lucifer nodded, pleased she was still following, and she hadn’t just shut down completely. “A manifestation Hell itself constructs upon a souls’ arrival. Give or take some time for Hell to notice them. Sort of an ‘infernal holodeck’ for lack of a better description, it generates an appropriate personalized torment based on the deeds that a soul committed in life. The type of torment is almost entirely self-supplied. The doors of most of the cells aren’t even locked. Souls simply don’t leave, punishing themselves.”

She filtered that through her mind. “So, you didn’t actually need to... _do_ anything?”

“ _Need_ is subjective. Some souls end up improperly imprisoned. Some go years sitting alone before Hell notices them. An overseer is required to fine-tune their punishment, become personally involved in their damnation loop, or render proper judgment. Some souls teeter on the edge of belonging one way or another, and a decisions must be made. And of course there are those few _true_ psychopaths, who don't feel guilty and would never even think of punishing themselves. So someone has to do it for them. I made those decisions.”

“But, why tell me?”

“You must know I am unworthy of whatever affection you have for me. So you can be free.”

She started to get up. He tensed. “Lucifer, I chose you. You’re my friend. You always have been. I won’t just give up on that.”

“You _thought_ you chose me. But you didn’t accept me. How much longer would you have put up with my ‘method acting’, had Cain not forced my hand? A year perhaps?”

She didn’t have a good answer for that. Not forever, certainly. Forever suddenly had an entirely different connotation. Another year probably would have stretched the limit of her patience. Far less than that if they pursued a relationship. “I don’t know, but-”

“There are no more ‘buts’, Detective.”

He didn’t even smirk at that. It kind of broke her heart. “But you left, so you won’t do those things anymore, right?”

“Ah, but I did do _those things_.”

“Do you want to again?”

“Of course not.” He refilled his drink, an offended grimace shooting across his face. Some of himself that she knew so well reappeared. It was all true because he never lied. Not once. He apologized for _bluffing_ for Christ’s- _oh dear._

She breathed. _Just breathe._ He looked so. Human.

“You never lie. Like, ever.” Something clicked. Not about anything, even white lies. He’d been sincere about everything this whole time. “That’s why you never used a fake name.”

“Pardon?”

“Everyone you ever slept with. You _told_ them who you were. You came to L.A. as Lucifer Morningstar - as yourself. It would have been so much easier for you to adopt a fake name, but you didn’t. You had the money and connections to do it too, it’s not like it wouldn’t have been like snapping your fingers to have it done.”

He looked at her like she was a trap.

She shifted to another couch, closer to him. “You have to get so much more flack than you let on for going by one of the most hated names in history. You told everyone who you were, and if they don’t believe you, that’s on them, not you. That’s why you didn’t sleep with me early on.”

“I hardly think it’s the same thing.”

“You lead by example, by telling the truth. If they didn’t believe you, then that was still good enough, because you _don’t lie_.”

Lucifer didn’t respond.

“And that wasn’t good enough for _me_. You _would_ have told me before we actually-“

“Don’t be-“

“That’s why you went to Vegas.”

He downed his second glass and set it on the floor.

“That first time when you went. You weren’t ready to tell me.”

The Devil side-eyed her. “Are you done?”

“No. What’s the worst thing you’ve ever done? In Hell?”

Lucifer made a face, picked up his bottle and took a long pull. “I tortured human souls. That’s all you need to know.”

“But you want me to know more. Who you really were.”

“You aren’t _ready_ to know some things.” The words hung heavy in the air. The history of the Earth behind them and him.

Still. She came here for a reason. “Can I be the judge of that?”

Lucifer tilted his head, peering at her over the neck of his bottle. “I’ve been a judge for a very long time. Jury, too. And executioner, when it was required.”

Chloe tried to absorb all of his words, she really did. “But you stopped.”

“I didn’t want you to find out that way.”

Chloe snapped. “By saving my life? And apparently risking your own? Lucifer, I swept up probably fifty bullets, and that’s not even including the ones left at the scene of the attack, Your feathers, your _wings_ were _bloody_. You were hurt, because of me. I didn’t get the chance to say thank you. I barely even have a bruise after the vest stopped that shot. I should be hamburger.”

“Those bullets were for me, not you. And it could have been far worse. I shouldn’t have taken you in there at all.”

God, like she hadn’t heard versions of that before. “My life is always at risk. I’m a cop.”

“It’s -“

If she could summon flames to _her_ eyes, they’d be there. “Don’t you dare say ‘it’s not the same’, if that was so important you would have left long ago. The only reason you stayed at the LAPD was me. It had to be.”

“I let my fascination with humans get the better of me.”

Chloe looked at him. “Fine. Why?”

He grumbled. “I only saw them, mostly, _after_ their deaths, not before. I had a rather low opinion of Dad’s _favorites_. Still do, as a whole. But then, I always got the worst. Even when I came up, I dallied with those who wanted my favors, sexual and otherwise. Many had doomed themselves to Hell before they ever met me. I saw many of them ten, fifteen, fifty years down the road. Not all, some mended their ways and I never saw them again. For the best, really.”

“Delilah.”

He startled.

“She’s not one of them, right?”

“You’re correct. She’s not in Hell. I knew it when she perished.”

Chloe sensed a flaw in his logic. “So, she went to Heaven, yet you worked with me to solve her murder. This was _before_ you even got to know me. I didn’t even want you on my case.”

“So?”

“You have a good heart, Lucifer.”

Fire swirled in his eyes. Then he blinked, and it was gone. “I helped you solve your case because I could not - _would_ not - personally return to Hell to give the killer the _punishment_ he truly deserved. A Hell-loop wouldn't do him proper justice. If you knew what I’ve done-“

“So tell me.”

He drained his bottle, then got up for another.

Chloe watched him. She wasn’t sure he was going to keep talking. She changed the subject to keep him vocal. “Why whiskey?”

He looked at her like she’d grown two heads. “How’s that?”

“You could just drink moonshine right?”

He visibly shuddered from head to toe. “Do you know why it’s called rotgut? It’s-“

“That doesn’t matter, yeah?”

“I _do_ have a sense of taste.”

“Why?”

He glared at his new bottle. “I have no idea. Dad’s twisted sense of humor, perhaps? Did you know ash has a flavor?”

She didn’t respond right away. “I think I need a drink too.”

He poured one, walking over to get to hand it to her. Her fingers touched his. She made eye-contact. “What did you do, Lucifer?”

His face pinched ever so slightly. “I hurt a lot of people.”

Chloe dug around in her recollection of what she had been told about Hell, as a kid and later. “How? Flails? Whips?”

“Worse.”

“Skinning?”

“ _Worse._ ”

He picked out another story, a different kind of Hell-loop. “Hell is capable of making real many, many things the human mind can’t even conceive. As reality as you know it is not. There’s a Nazi ‘doctor’ in Hell who has his nerves shredded a nanometer at a time. And he lives through it. He doesn’t get the relief his victims were eventually granted. All the way to the brain. The whole time, the nerves that have already been flayed to threads still respond as if they were still sending signals. It sometimes takes a decade before the process repeats itself. He is granted a moment to realize its about to start again. He’s had twenty-four such moments before horror follows the absence of pain. He is granted that moment only to realize he is nothing but those tracks of nerves, and eyes to see it so. He sees his bare, open brain unfolding in a loose, bloody cloud above him. He sees the fire coming. And it’s the fire of ovens, of his victims. And they’re wielding rusty scalpels.”

Chloe found herself unable to breathe.

“Of course, they aren’t really his victims, merely constructs, demons and ether and Hellfire. That one was all my own invention. One of Maze’ favorites, as a matter of fact.”

The inside of her mouth tasted bitter. She’d never been to the ruins of the camps, but Auschwitz was on her list of places to visit and pay her respects. The camps were a part of human history that made her ashamed to be one. A friend of hers had gone, taking a side trip while on vacation. He told her that walking in was eerie. Still, windless and oppressively silent. Other visitors walked very softly around the perimeter of the barb-wire fences, as if trying not to disturb the dead. Standing pools of still water dotted one side of the camp, filled with human bones and ashes dumped after cleaning the ovens. He said ]the smell and taste of ash still hung in the air, over seventy years later, sticking to the tongue and invading the sinuses like an incorporeal ghost. Some guard towers still stood and not all the inner buildings were torn down. The memorial building had rooms filled with only pairs of glasses and shoes. The train tracks lay cold and quiet, but they were still there too, right next to the huge black memorial.

She wondered if Lucifer had ever been there himself. Why God didn’t step in and stop the atrocities. She felt her eyes starting to water, and she blinked, storing those questions for another day. He could probably rant for  _days_ about God. About his Father. She wrenched herself back to the conversation.

“Sounds...too good for him.”

“That, my dear Chloe, is not a road you want to venture down. If you’ve never been in so much pain you lose bowel control, then you don’t know pain. You don’t dance with it. You don’t know how to find the razor edge of someone’s pain threshold and apply just the right amount so they don’t pass out from it, or go insane to a point where it doesn’t matter anymore. And then after that, you tease the threshold, push it up a notch, until the pain is normal. And then you push it again until they vomit or soil themselves. Turns out kidney stones can be quite effective for the last one.”

Quietly, “you have been in that much pain?”

He waved the bottle vaguely. “That’s assuming I had anything to expel. All things considered-“

“You have, haven’t you?”

Lucifer bit the inside of his cheek. “I Fell, once.” She could _hear_ the capitals in that one, and knew instantly that he wasn’t talking about a stumble on the sidewalk.

She felt her face go still and her heart suddenly weighed twenty pounds. “Some of your punishments come from that, don’t they?”

He sighed heavily. “Those first days were not built on originality. The Fires of Hell were as inventive as I got for a great deal of time. The demons weren’t much better, until Maze.”

“Maze. My...roommate, Maze.”

“She may not always know how to show affection, but she adores your offspring.”

“Maze.”

“What’s the problem now?”

“She’s a demon.”

“A nearly toothless one, these days. She holds her own, but she would never harm you or your child. She doesn’t torment _living_ humans. Unless I instruct her to. And probably not even that, now. “

Chloe’s barely gathered brain cells shattered again. “Did you _tell_ her to go live with me?”

“Not at all. I thought it was a terrible idea.”

“So she doesn’t always follow your...orders.”

“Well, I didn’t tell her _not_ to. We weren’t on great terms then.”

“And you didn’t think to tell me-“

“Do you recall how you reacted when I called her a demon in your very presence.”

“But. Okay, yeah.”

“And she’s never injured you or the child, correct?”

“She has some serious fences to mend with Trixie. She really hurt her.” At Lucifers expression, she quickly added, “Verbally.”

“See? Hardly scary. You aren’t afraid of me, and I’m far worse.”

“So far, It sounds like you ran Hell pretty fairly.”

He grumbled. “Just or not, torture affects the wielder of the whip as well. Maze enjoyed it more than I ever did. She says she was forged in the bowels of Hell to punish the guilty. And that’s true. She would never hurt the non-guilty, without provocation. I would be required to deal with her myself should she do that.” He took another long swing and fire touched his eyes again.

“You’ve had to? Discipline a demon?”

“Destroy. Lesser demons are little better than trained dogs. Mostly they don’t do much of anything. Once in a while they go somewhere they shouldn’t and damage souls. When that happens, they’re released from duty to wander the very lowest levels of Hell, totally mindless and lacking purpose. Eventually, they tear each other apart.”

Chloe shuddered. “Sounds like a lot of work.”

He shifted. “It was.”

She sat quietly again, sipping her absurdly expensive booze in his absurdly expensive apartment.

“You never had...problems with Maze?”

“On the contrary. She herself _misbehaved_ and was discarded to the deep pits. She came back. One of very very few who ever did such a thing. She kept her mind down there and returned stronger. Mazikeen scaled those pit walls with nothing but her fingers and the sharpened bones of other demons she slayed to stay alive. Those knives were templated from hand-carved shoulder blades. I had them remade and Hell-forged for her. She proved her loyalty to me over and over until I had no other choice than to forgive her and make her my primary bodyguard and head torturer.” His lip lifted at the corner at some other memory.

Her brow furrowed. “She personally tortured people?”

“We both did. And many other demons were employed as well. Few attain such high rank as Maze. It took her millennia.”

“You said that before, but what you’ve told me so far are scenarios. Things you or Maze set up, but didn’t do yourself, right?”

“I’ve done things, Detective.”

“That was the whole point of this, yeah? Not the due justice you sent them to, but things _you_ did? So what have _you_ done?”

He sighed deeply. “You should know I haven’t told Dr. Martin this story-“

“She knows?”

“Don’t interrupt, please. I won’t excuse it by telling you how long ago it happened or how different societies were back then, nor will I saddle you with claims that I’m not the same Devil now that I was then.”

Chloe bit her lip. “Whatever it is-“

His eyes and voice pled to her. “Just, hear it first.”

She’d never seen him more serious. She couldn’t say she had personal experience with torture, though the poisoning was pretty bad. The cases she worked on rarely turned out to be more horrifying than bodies disfigured _after_ death. She knew a family member or two who went overseas, Iraq. She knew that even troops who hadn’t experienced torture came back with PTSD for other reasons.

She didn’t think she knew anyone who had ever actually experienced torture. One of the things she didn’t like about their justice system was the overuse of solitary confinement - she’d heard second-hand that long-term sensory deprivation could be considered torture.

“Okay.”

“She deserved my _wrath_. She committed sins with intent and without guilt. She didn’t deserve my abuse, because that part was personal, and punishment shouldn't be, not for the one who meted it out.”

* * *

The fashion of the day in Hell ran in variations of his Heavenly robes, only black and ash grey. He wore a straight razor-trimmed beard and curls mostly tamed with beeswax. Egypt invented eyeliner early in history and he’d taken to the fashion, keeping kohl among his personal possessions in Hell. He’d taken a certain amount of pleasure in his vanity, adopting what passed for fashion trends after discovering how much it benefitted him when visiting the earthly firmament. Blending into the high-ranking populace made it easier to trade favors, but the effort tended to be wasted on the unwashed masses.

In those days it wasn’t hyperbole.

The Lord of Hell disliked getting his hands dirty. Or more accurately, he preferred not to know a souls’ innermost thoughts, merely deal with its’ actions. There were always too many to bother learning details of their lives, save the pertinent facts; an unending backlog requiring his direct attention and intervention.

This woman came to his attention through a confused and flustered demon. It told him there was a recently arrived soul who could not be dealt with in any of the usual manners.

Problem one: The soul knew where she was, and she laughed.

The demon ran out of ideas, as it was fairly unimaginative and the standard beating routine didn’t seem to faze her, in the long run. Her Hell-loop jumped around a bit, as if Hell itself wasn’t quite sure what to make of her either. The last time the demon checked in on her, she’d made her cell neither Hell-loop nor sanctuary, but something that resembled her earthly home. As she was not currently punishing herself, he cleared his schedule for a personal visit.

When human souls didn’t cooperate with the mechanics of Hell, he had to step in and direct it himself. Usually, that at least meant ‘complicated’ humans, ones more interesting at least to deal with. They didn’t understand how they ended up here; the ones who committed sins ‘for the greater good’ or ‘just following orders’, but even those had valid exceptions that didn’t count as sins. Not everyone who fought in a war went to Hell. Just the ones that burned towns of innocents to the ground so the army didn’t have to worry about them at their rear.

When the _complicated_ ones made an appearance, Lucifer enjoyed stepping in. He could talk to them, watch their faces as they realized where they were, what happened and why. They crumbled before him, their sins weighing them down, and their punishment would begin properly. Sometimes he brought Maze. Sometimes he borrowed her toys.

She found better ones than were his collection. She more or less gave up inventing her own torture devices. Souls reacted better when they recognized such things from their previous lives. Instead, she stole or, if in the mood for it, purchased blacksmithing tools. When she could procure them, she liked jewelers’ implements too. They rarely lasted more than a few uses when combined with Hellfire, but she didn’t seem to mind replacing them regularly. Not that the things she tinkered around with on her own time didn’t have their uses.

Lately, she’d been playing around making daggers of glass with chipped edges. Brittle, they broke off in the victim but that was part of her fun. She didn’t exactly harbor nostalgia for her lost items. She held the memories of the screams they produced.

Dressed in flowing layers of black and silver silk that brushed the floor, Lucifer stepped through in his human form, pulling the cell door shut behind him. On his way over, he picked up a few items from Maze. Just in case. He didn’t have to wait long for her attention.

Her eyes snapped up to him and she threw herself prostate instantly, her long blonde hair flying across a packed dirt floor. She looked oddly clean, all things considered. Some of her hair had been tied back with blood-tipped antlers held with leather thongs. He tasted bile in his throat.

At the moment, she resided in a one-room building with a thatched roof, a small window open to outside pastures, and a sleeping palette along one wall. A more modern door would have required leather or metal hinges and lumber that had been planed, instead of roughly tied together long sticks and tree limbs that could be moved from the opening.

Her prone body took up most of the floor space and she shivered in her simple long linen dress. The outfit appeared to be ceremonial, with small lines of cotton thread embroidery on the top edges and cuffs creating odd symbols of-

 _Oh. One of those, hardly worth my time._ “Get up.”

She didn’t move, maybe frozen in fear, maybe something else entirely. “My Lord.”

He stepped up, intending to kick her in the ribs. She kissed his sandaled feet instead, making him freeze momentarily.

He growled, stepping back. “I am not to be worshipped. On your feet.”

Her voice rang with awe. “I knew you would come for me, my Lord.”

“Not in any way you think or want, idiot child.” He reached down, pulling her face up roughly and bringing her up to standing by her neck. Of all her otherwise plain peasant features, sky blue eyes met his, then quickly flicked away in a panic. She was young, but not too young to commit a deadly sin or ten - maybe early twenties; old enough to have spawned a few more future cultists who also wouldn’t know any better.

Humans. Constantly tripping over their own feet, on good days. On bad ones, they pushed each other face-first into the mud over him or his Father, fighting and killing over one or the other. Useless short lives, gone in a blink, only to end up here over stupid misconceptions. That and murder, anyway.

Caught in a cult of Satan worshippers, she fell sway to their vile, uniformed leader. That alone should not have sent her here. That she was brought up from childhood in one was unfortunate, but not a sin in itself. Dad had a bit of a soft spot for humans in life situations out of their control, but it didn’t extend to heinous crimes committed in such a life.

He mentally reached for the information he needed and it came to him. He hissed. “You murdered your sister.” He dropped her face in disgust.

The black chains at his side sounded sharply off dangling links clanging together. She may be complicated, but she certainly earned her coming punishment. Multiple murders, unholy sacrifices, molestation. Petty sins like theft and lying making up the end of a long list. Betrayal and bearing false witness were right in the middle too. If she had any ability to read or write, ‘forgery’ no doubt would have been present as well. Her father would be here too, before long. He handed her the knife and she gladly drew it across throats, washing her hands in the blood. Animals first, then townspeople. Then family.

Then she herself became a sacrifice, which explained the cleanliness and attire.

“She was a fitting sacrifice, a gift for you, my Lord.”

He didn’t hide his anger. “She’s not here. I didn’t ask for a child sacrifice, and I don’t want them. Why didn’t you stop with goats? At least those you can render and consume, if you aren’t stupid enough to flat out burn them.” Burnt offerings. A waste in a world already often poor in food resources. He made a mental note to go check on Rome. He needed some time away from this place.

“Our weak and sick animals would not do, my Lord. The plague-“

“Would have ended or killed you all either way. Not my problem. _You_ are. I suppose I am your Lord now, but you will cease calling me that. You are not my servant, you aren’t even a slave. You’re a thorn in my side, a fly in my wine. Nothing more.”

“Then I am glad I am that much, my King.”

Lucifer felt the flames asking to be let loose. He gestured, and the heavy chains he had carried leapt and bit into her wrists, binding them together, clawing and drawing blood with shallow scrapes. He growled over her sharp cry. “I should visit your people myself and tell them to stop damning themselves with this nonsense.”

Red blood began to drip off her palms and her breathing became harsh. The weight pulled her shoulders down, bending her. The spiked chains weren’t doing more than pressing pinpricks into her flesh, but he could tighten them with a thought. They wrapped from her forearms to wrists, like a snake with a skin of iron thorns. She hissed, her face going pale and her eyes on the chains. “They...only wish your favor, my King.”

He pinched his face. “You do not deserve ‘my favor’. Your sister was not your first murder, and you watching her burn in the fire you set yourself doesn’t seem to torment you in the least. Setting fire to _you_ seems to make you believe _you_ are the willing sacrifice. Again. Your entire cult is well on its way to reside here in cells beside your own, several are already damned with no hope of turning back. What on earth did you think I would do with your sister?” Of course he knew the most likely answer, but he wanted it to be something else.

She hesitated, confusion in her voice, as if she still wasn’t sure why he was angry with her. “Make her your favored concubine, of course. That’s what my father told me. I was unclean and would not make a suitable sacrifice, but she was untouched by men and pure, perfect for you.” The unstable fervor she lost a moment ago returned full force.

Lucifer _knew_ he was at the point he should just walk away, set the cell full of Hellfire and be done with it. He was never one to lose a conversation, however. The thought came, and the chains gripped, closing on her, ripping two dozen knuckle-long gouges on her forearms. She fell to her knees with lost breath. The sleeves quickly became soaked with her blood, hanging in tatters. Her breath became erratic and panicky.

What little patience he had left fled like smoke. “Your sister was less than ten winters old. I do not take children for slaves, or for anything else. Your sister likely had a short stay in Heaven before returning to earth again as a new babe. Hopefully _without_ siblings like yourself this time.”

She drew back, chain claws catching on her dress. “No! She should be with you! She would make you a worthy wife. From birth, we readied her for you. We bathed her in the blood of a newborn fawn and kept her away from men. She must be with you! I did everything exactly as we were instructed.” Her voice cracked, tears welling up, looking inward for something.

Well, that’s something to work with, at least. He could find out who bore responsibility for the origination of this corruption and send Maze to that person’s cell for some knowledge gathering. “I assure you, she could not and would not please me. I have no ‘concubines’. I neither need nor want one not of at least childbearing age. I’m not the marrying type in any case.”

She sobbed. For a moment he thought he got through to her. Then she reached up and violently tore the front of her dress open with a ragged scream at the effort, aggravating the already open wounds, and spattering blood everywhere. Blood smeared her chest and drops hit her bare feet. “Then I have failed you. Let me please you, my King. I am unclean and unworthy, but-”

Lucifer recoiled. “You know not what you want.” He raged fire, dropping his human face for his Devil one, heat licking his sharp, raw cheekbones. “This is what you want?”

She fell forward in cower, head down. She gathered herself into a crouching bow, fists to the floor and her forehead touching the ground. Her voice came out thready, speaking to the floor, breaking and hollow. “Yes, my King.”

He was already close to losing all restraint. He snarled down at her, “Look at me and say that!”

Her eyes came up. She had to rise to a seated position to look up at him, her hands forced into a clasp and running with her blood. Her small breasts hung free from her torn clothes.

He threw off his outer layer of robes, revealing his shoulders and the center of his chest glowing raw and red. His heart pounded in his ears. The center edges of his collarbones slipped up through the muscle wetly, with the shine of viscera. She shook, backing up to the stone wall and propping herself upright against it. It bought her maybe another foot of space.

This was a good time to make his exit. He began to turn away, but she said, desperately “My King, use me as you see fit.”

He stepped forward, needing to cow her completely, leaning over her and jerking her face up, pinching her jaw hard. “Do not offer me that which you do not desire. I find it insulting.”

Her blue eyes welled up, terror written in them but her words spoke otherwise. “I am yours to do with as you please. Always.”

“Men didn’t touch your sister, but you did.”

“I had to be certain she remained intact for you, upon her journey to you. I did not harm her virginity.”

His voice dropped dangerously, hard and pitiless. “You harmed her soul.”

Tears rolled down her cheeks. “I am a poor and unclean exchange. I did everything right, she should be here, in your royal bed, a pure offering-”

“I DO NOT FUCK CHILDREN.”

She went silent, finally. Perhaps _finally_ realizing how wrong she had been. Perhaps he could be that lucky.

He continued, quietly but full of flaring rage, “I am not your Satan. Your cult has everything wrong. All of it. And now you’re here, offering yourself, based on their teachings.” He held back his fire but it simmered within him to boiling over. He did not simply lash out, nor was this the first soul to cause him problems. She _was_ the first to both be a Devil Worshipper and pleased to meet him, beyond the initial meeting.

She dropped back to the floor, crawling to him, reaching for his feet with blood covered hands. She kissed one again, pulling at his robes. “They may have done everything wrong, my King, as you say, yet I am here, in your presence. And _I_ am not a child.” She trembled below him. She would have made a good demon, potentially, had she any useful wits about her.

Lucifer forced her to her feet with another gesture and she flew with a jerk that slammed her into the wall. Her stupid ceremonial antlers snapped and cracked behind her with an echoing pop, the shattered pieces bouncing off the wall around their feet.

She stood, panting and whimpering. He touched her neck, burning it. She screamed. He stroked a thumb over her cheek, raising angry blisters. He brought his face down closer to hers, looming with heat rolling off him like oil. She could not move, because he willed it so, could not look away. Sulfur leaked out of him, because he let it. She could easily make out the black of his eyes where there should be white. His burning red never left her liquid blue. “Now do you want me? Your King of Hell and damnation? Do you think I Fell for _this_? Do you think I want this?”

She couldn’t speak, her hands opening to reach up to grip his wrist. She halted and jerked away again with a gasp nearly indistinguishable from the rest of her panting. Her red palms fell to her sides, the raw skin lost under streaming blood. The front of her dress quickly became soaked and heavy.

He dulled the heat on her throat and his arms. His fingers rested on her face in a way that would be tender under any other circumstance. Sarcastically, “I thought you wanted to touch me.” He expected her to back down at this point. She surprised him and tried again, closing her bloody, slippery hands on his forearm with a hiss. Her blonde hair started to curl and shrivel on her left side from the heat rolling off his hand.

She was nearly unable to speak at this point, the heat having burned the inside of her mouth right down to her vocal chords. “My King-”

He dropped his belt, flaring the inner robe open from shoulder to feet. Crimson and furrowed from the ground up, he challenged her. He stood over her, power incarnate. This soul infuriated him and he would _not_ be the one of the two to back down.

His hand shifted up to the side of her face and he swept off one of her eyebrows with fire, opening raw skin. She cried again, trying to get away from him. He pressed her to the wall with mental control, as if held there by a sudden change in the direction of gravity. The world turned a corner. She lay on the stone wall under him. The open doorway now in the ceiling. Hot and cold dry stacked rock dug hard into her back.

Lucifer remained standing on the dirt-packed floor, parallel to her and gravity working just fine for him. “I am not your King. My true servants have no souls. That’s all _you_ are. You don’t even have a body down here, only the memory of it that allows you to craft one, the one you had.”

He rested his thumb in her left ear, bringing up the heat again. She screamed. He spoke softly in her other ear. “You could choose not to feel pain as you have no body, but you’ve known nothing but pain and disillusionment. You can’t stop it through will alone. You _can_ delay it by dropping your devotion to what you think I am.” He scalded the shell of her ear, making the skin smooth and tight. “Your body doesn’t even exist, in truth, how can you offer what isn’t even yours?”

Lucifer smirked. “Your earthly flesh is a disappointment to your father, as your death did not stop the plague either. That’s not how it works. Your father killed _you_ in vain, for nothing.”

She actually glared at him. “Not nothing.”

He slapped her hard with his free hand, bringing both to cup her face, his red hands on her pale flesh. “Your death accomplished nothing. Your sister’s death accomplished nothing.”

She called up a reserve of strength from some well of mindless zeal. “You found me. You found me and you came to me. My father will join me here, when his time comes, and add to your strength. We will join your armies against God.”

“My ‘armies’ do not exist to batter the gates of the Silver City. I have no designs to return there to overthrow my family.”

She whimpered between gasps. “You are the Lord of Darkness, of evil, My-”

Lucifer lifted her by the neck and slammed her again into the stone floor, this time face first with a hard twist, tearing her skin. His free fingers formed claws and he tore the dress down the center of her back, peeling ribbons of skin with it. Any regular pace to her breathing was destroyed entirely with the wrenching scream. He stepped in, fully invading her space. His larger, taller body pressed up against her back, hot and relentless and unstoppable, blood pooling between them.

Dry and scaldingly hot, he moved his hips and bared erection against her. “You still think this is what you desire? You got a good look, didn’t you, woman? It’s not what you’re used to. Not what your father gave you, when you asked for it.” Her blood ran down her back, between them, some soaking  into her dress, some dripping at Lucifers feet. He snaked his hand over her abdomen, holding her tight against himself. “When I take you, it’s not because you offered yourself.”

He bent his head over her good ear, charred lips brushing her cheek. “Who knows? Maybe I’ll go up there and show them my big pretty angel wings and they’ll all repent. Maybe he won’t join you down here at all. Maybe none of them will.”

She choked, barely coherent, twisting. He held her flat. She looked back at him. Finally, fear in her eyes. “Wings?”

Sensing advantage, he extended them, edges touching the wall on either side of him. They would stay pristine only for a few moments, but it was worth the expression on her face. “Didn’t you know, Satan is an angel too?”

“No! You Fell. You can’t be-”

“Divine?” The end of him pressed into her. “You expected an evil God, did you? I punish the guilty. I torture those deserving of it. Like you.” Fire ebbed from him, cauterizing the wounds on her back, her skin flashing and sticking to him. When she twisted, it tore. Holding most of the inferno at his disposal at bay, Lucifer entered her hard and fast.

He tore her, new blood running down their legs, boiling where it touched him. Her screams ran breathless and dry, sticking in her throat. Her bound arms tore further, the slicing chains digging into her chest. When she was capable of no more sound, he thrust another handful of times then withdrew, unsatisfied, folding his hated wings back.

She sobbed, collapsing in a broken and boneless, bloody heap, laying on the wall.

Lucifer grunted. “I am not to be worshipped.”

He left his robes to burn alongside her.

* * *

Chloe felt cold, clammy, and damp. Her stomach knotted, full of lead. He admitted to the abuse, and it terrified him to reveal himself, fully.

She knew he had to have done _things._ She thought she knew what torture was, intellectually. Forms of inflicting pain. What would she have done if somebody murdered Trixie that way? Burned alive? Would she have been able to restrain herself?

His voice fell to a whisper. “I never went back. Never checked on her relatives to see what became of them. I didn’t pay the rest of the clan above a visit, I couldn’t. I never even checked her name. I didn’t need to know it. I didn’t want to. I did what I should have done in the first place, I filled her cell with Hellfire and walked out of it. Maze later informed me she’d gone utterly insane and was destroyed. And all the while, she didn’t even understand where she had gone wrong. Why she couldn’t ever have pleased me.”

He didn’t look up to see her response, passing his half-finished bottle of whiskey back and forth in his hands, silence falling save for the rolling slosh of amber liquid against its glass walls. She had never seen him so lost, and she thought she had seen his whole range of emotions by now.

Lucifer waited. Waited for her to bolt and run away screaming. Maybe go catatonic or pass out. One way or the other he was going to lose her. Lose her trust in him. Lose her respect. That one would hurt the most, rending him, however misplaced it was to begin with. He could almost see the sand running out, blood-red and piling up like fallen ash on everything else he’d ever told her that she hadn’t believed, until last week.

She looked at him, remembering the face she saw a week ago. She tried to imagine his entire body like that, red and burning. How long had he looked like that? Did it hurt? She thought about the power he wielded in Hell and then gave up when he left. Kings on earth didn’t give up their kingdoms without a fight. None were as impossibly vast as the domain he once ruled, or as eternal.

She shifted in her memory for all the confessions she witnessed. The horror stories of professed murderers, gleeful in their blood baths. Drug dealers who shrugged when told their product led to deaths. Rapists who didn’t believe what they did was wrong. Women who either tried and failed or successfully arranged it so their husbands met an ‘accident’, for insurance money, for revenge, for perceived infidelity. Those who _didn’t_ feel guilty for their crimes. How many times she wanted to reach across the table and slap someone. How often Lucifer was unsuccessful in restraining himself when she held herself back, taking personal offense in their tepid reactions to what they’d done.

How much faster all those stories came out of their mouths when Lucifer came to work his charm.

Everyone on earth who died and gone the wrong way, he had witnessed or at minimum, knew of. A narrow percentage of them innocent and rescued. An eternity of dealing with the worst of all of humanity, barred from paradise. Counting their sins on a scale and weighing them against the heat death of the universe.

And yet, if all he wanted was to frighten her away, he could have shown her before everything. He stayed. Knowing what he risked, knowing she would very likely never take him at face value, he stayed. Because he felt something for her and it terrified him, the literal Devil. He likely risked his eternal life for her. She touched her pants pocket, feeling the fragile shaft there.

Like thunder after the crack of lightning, understanding rolled over her, relentless and larger than the sky. She felt it in the marrow of her bones, vibrating.

How much choice had he had?

She told him she wouldn’t run. And she wouldn’t. But that didn’t mean she didn’t have questions.

The sand slowed, grains circling the narrow aperture.

She focused on him again, a tsunami of power seated catty-corner to her, nearly knee to knee, human and Devil, in his apartment, drinking good whiskey.

He shifted his weight as he felt her attention come back to him.

She cleared her dry throat. “What happens when they aren’t...punished? They’re already in Hell, does it matter if they’re tortured?”

Lucifer looked relieved she spoke at all. He licked his lips. “It’s required of the position.”

“You hate God. Why do the job at all?”

He looked at the ceiling, contemplating.

“I’ve been made to create things, you know. I set the stars alight, and I made - _make_ \- music. Torture is just another form of creation. Create pain, and you have symphonies of screams. When all your nerves fire and screech, all you see behind your closed eyes are flickers of light, a bit like a supernova happening on fast forward. Two sides of the same coin, and all that.”

A wry smile.

“Also, it’s that or permanent destruction.”

“But you’re retired now, and...alive.”

“I expect Dad will step in sooner or later. Amenadiel always took me back, on Dad’s orders. I assumed Dad _permitted_ vacations since he doesn’t stop me from wandering topside from time to time.”

She ran her tongue along the inside of her mouth, thinking about the best way to phrase this- “I know this sounds weird, but, did you try... _not_ torturing?”

Lucifer nodded, almost smiling but not quite. “Oh, yes. I was paid a little visit for not running Hell ‘properly’. I tried to stick to efficiency after that, but time passed and I got complacent. That woman’s soul reminded me why I should not invest myself emotionally. I stepped over the line - ran past it for miles. When you live at the top of the food chain, there’s no one above you to tell you when you’ve fucked up. Other than that little visit, anyway. Dad apparently had no qualms with my behavior while torturing souls, as no one came down again to reprimand me. I stepped back, except under high-pressure circumstances. Demons don’t have souls, you see. It makes them ideal for the scut work. I should have sent Maze instead of going myself. She would have remained...fair.”

She shivered. “Rough justice system.”

He let go of a breath. “Criminals will die eventually anyway, why bother locking them up?”

Her answer came out textbook. “So they won’t hurt anyone else.”

“That’s the plan. You’ve seen it fail over and over again. Why not simply kill them?”

“What?”

“As a thought exercise. Why not?”

“Because...they should be given the chance to become better?”

“At the risk of everyone else? Every other innocent who could fall prey once the criminal has served their term. Is the percent of success stories worth every abusive husband or wife who was let go too early only to murder their spouse? Is that a judgment call you can make?”

She looked down again. “What would you do? If you had the power to extinguish any human on earth you wanted to? _Do_ you have that power?”

Lucifer decided to be direct. “I do, actually. I _could_ kill humans at least in person - no lightning bolts from a cloudless sky - but I and all other celestials are forbidden from murdering humans. I was not the judge of humanity until after they’ve shuffled off their mortal coils. Otherwise, every child molester would be dead. All of them.”

“Then why hold back? If you have that power, what’s stopping you?”

He breathed. He looked at her. She felt his gaze and she met his eyes again, finally. The soft dark brown eyes she knew so well looked back, a hint of disbelief evident.

She cocked her head. “You’re already a self-described monster. Yet you don’t-” She waved, “-Smite guilty ‘humans’ into greasy black patches on the asphalt left and right.”

“How do you know I don’t?”

“Because you’re not a monster.”

He started to protest, but dropped it.

Chloe circled back around to his story. “That woman, is that how torture usually goes? Or went? Do souls in Hell know they won’t permanently die, usually?”

Lucifer didn’t answer right away. “No. I let her get under my skin. I thought I won in the end, but I was wrong. I broke my own rule- don’t play with your food. And it had a price.”

“What price?”

“My soul fractured. Hell, as strange as this sounds, has guidelines. Demons who ignored them were thrown in the Pit.”

“You regret it.”

“Deeply.”

Her throat became painfully dry. She had forgotten her drink, absently putting it on the side table sometime during the telling of the story. The glass was empty. She reached and he passed her the bottle. She poured herself two fingers worth it and handed it back.

He had a look of cautious optimism that she was willing to share a drink. She sipped it, rolling the liquid around on her tongue, thinking about all the drinks they shared. Comparing what she knew of him with what he just told her. He didn’t use the time period as an excuse, but she knew it factored at least somewhat. Parts of the world today are still violent and harsh.

She swallowed her mouthful. “That’s why you ask everyone what they desire.”

That threw him for a loop. “I beg your pardon?”

“Consent is paramount to you. When I threw myself at you, drunk off my ass, you turned me down.” He opened his mouth. She held up her finger. “No, it doesn’t matter that I passed out on you. It didn’t matter that I stripped naked and ran through your apartment, and no, I still don’t remember that part.”

She turned her glass around in her hand, wanting ice but not wanting to stand up. “You know what I do remember?”

Lucifer held his breath. “No.”

She met his eyes. “I remember that you weren’t in your bed with me, even though I kicked you out of it. I remember that when I woke up, _you_ weren’t naked. You teased me, making me think we’d done it at first, but you were able to joke about it. I remember you offered me breakfast and espresso, with that stupid cat-in-the-cream grin on your face. Oh and I remember you insulted my sleeping noises instead of commenting on my ass. Something about a field wench.”

“Albanian.”

“That’s oddly specific.”

“I haven’t met that many field wenches, I suppose.”

He looked so much like a like a puppy facing down a Roomba, it made her smile. “Lucifer, the point is, you didn’t take advantage of me. For all I knew of you then, you could have forced yourself on me and gotten away with it. Hell, you could have jerked yourself off in bed with me there, but for some reason I don’t think you even did that. Even if I’d said something to my boss, she could have blown me off, especially when the man behind it is rich and powerful. Or, if you just stopped going to the precinct, no one would have thought twice about it.”

“I would _never_ -”

“ _I know._ You never lied. My gut was never wrong about you. Even when I didn’t like some of the things you did - rampant drug use for one - you weren’t a _bad person_. I mean, being a raging slut is hardly a crime either. I’m going to take a wild guess that you aren’t carrying every disease known to man, since we haven’t had a breakout of some long-gone virus.”

He smirked at that. “I can neither carry nor incubate diseases. If anything, I make a very good buffer at parties. Your human diseases all burn to a crisp in my system.”

She nodded, sipping her drink slowly, pausing for a moment. “I have a story too, but you have to promise not to pursue it.” She pasted a mask on, the one she used for this story, that few knew of. Dan, some girls, a judge and a lawyer, but no one else. She hadn’t told Maze for the exact same reason she hesitated telling Lucifer. Especially now.

“How’s that?”

“Not to go after the person who attacked me. And not to talk about it.”

He sat up. “Attacked? When?”

“Over a decade ago. You have to promise.”

Lucifer tilted his head. “Very well. Mum’s the word. However, only on earth will I heed your request. If this person ends up in Hell, I will not make a vow to leave them strictly in peace. Additionally, should this person happen across my path, I make no promise to avoid them.”

She reminded him, “Hell isn’t your job anymore.”

“Maze would be happy to go if I took her. _She’s_ not retired.”

“He’s out of reach anyway, for now.” She sipped. “Fifteen years ago, I was sexually assaulted. raped.”

He exploded to standing, fire in his eyes. “WHO?”

“Lucifer, sit down, or I’ll stop talking.” She found herself comforted by his reaction, though she half expected him to react that way. It confirmed to her that he wasn’t the same Devil he used to be.

He gingerly sat, taking a long time to do so. He swallowed hard. His eyes flashed, comparing the faces of everyone he ever met, searching for a possible culprit. She was touched, nearly cracking her mask.

When he didn’t look like he was going to literally fly off and strangle someone, she continued. “After _Hot Tub_ , I dated one of the camera guys. Went on one date.”

Lucifer’s attention turned again, mentally scanning movie credits. “Which?”

“Don’t get ahead of me. Our date wasn’t amazing, but it wasn’t awful, until later. He was funny, but he also made some inappropriate jokes that I thought were _just_ jokes. He touched my shoulder once and then apologized when I smacked his hand off me, so I thought that was the end of it. He bought me drinks and kept them coming. Looking back, I realized he only sipped his one beer. We left the bar together and went back to the lot. Something deep down tried to warn me, but I ignored it because everyone on the set liked him; he was charismatic. I kissed him good night at the door of the trailer he used - his dad’s. His dad wasn’t in and he wanted me to come inside for the night, but I said no.”

Chloe knocked back the rest of her glass, not looking at Lucifer. “He dragged me inside. His dad was a director of another film I tried out for. I didn’t say anything about him because I was terrified of losing my acting career. I was young and stupid.”

He growled, then stopped and really looked at her. “Chloe, you are _not_ stupid. It’s no trouble to track him down-”

She shook her head, firmly.

“Are you...?”

“I’m okay, now. He used protection. I was not okay, mentally, for a long time. My mom doesn’t know. A few years later, I went to therapy for a few months and it helped me put the attack behind me. I went through a short period of ‘how much of it was my fault?’ Before I shoved that crap out of my brain. Weeks of ‘how disappointed would my father be with me for not fighting him off’. Becoming an officer and going through self-defense training helped me a lot.”

“Is he free?”

“No. A year later he was arrested. For rape.”

“If you’d said something-”

Chloe shot back at him, “You think I don’t know that?”

Lucifer glared at the floor. His knuckles on the arms of his chair were bloodless. His voice grated. “Of course.”

She played with her glass and a little sad smile crept up. “Ten years ago, a prison gang beat the shit out of him. It took some calls, but I eventually found out Dan was responsible for dropping information about a certain inmate who raped younger women.”

He huffed. “My estimation of your ex grows in unexpected ways.”

She thought she heard his voice catch. “Are you okay?”

“You were right to make me swear not to hunt him down.” He paused. “Was he…?”

Chloe shook her head. “No, not that I heard of, and even finding out about the beat down was accidental. After I pried it out of him, Dan told me he was only supposed to be beat to a pulp, nothing more.”

Lucifer’s lip twitched. “Good.”

“Oh? I figured you would have wanted him to get a taste of his own medicine.”

Distaste tainted his face. “Not on earth anyway. Maze reserves sodomization as torture for rare occasions. For him to have been raped as a consequence on earth, requires another human rapist. It never ends. Not everyone in prison has bought themselves a sure pass to Hell. I’d as soon not have them cement it by attempting to mete out _justice_ themselves.”

Chloe tilted her glass again toward him. Lucifer added a new shot.

She nodded. “Every time he’s up for parole, I write a letter to the judge, against him. The other women write in too. Once every few years, we catch up with each other to make sure we all know a hearing is coming up. He’s never gotten parole. The next hearing is in a few months.”

Lucifer inhaled. “I could write a _strongly_ worded message.”

She gave him a real smile. “Thanks, but we’ve got this. I’ll let you know if I need you though.” She looked through her glass at the floor. “Can you get drunk?”

Lucifer looked ready to push further on the topic, but she had moved on a long time ago. The asshole was in jail, and from all accounts would be spending eternity in Hell. She wasn’t sure at this point if that was actually comforting or not. An eternity was a long ass time.

He grunted and allowed the subject change. “Not quickly. Pills work better. Maintaining a light alcohol buzz is often enjoyable. It takes a fifth of 80 proof over around an hour for that. Why?”

“Just curious.” She reached in her pocket and pulled out a small white feather covered in dry blood, rubbing the tiny shaft between two fingers, spinning it. “I kept this one to remind me I wasn’t losing my sanity. What exactly happened?”

His eyes tracked the short feather and one of his shoulders twitched. “What do you remember? Right after you were shot.”

She smiled immediately, softly. “Your face. For one second, I remember your face and nothing but pure blue sky. Then you were gone again.”

He licked his lips. “Only that?” His dark eyes tracked the spinning feather, a touch of surprise reaching his face. She nodded. He filled in some gaps. “You were shot, once in the chest. You fell back and the men on the balcony opened up on us like rain.”

“And the feathers?”

Lucifer squirmed. “I unfurled my wings and made a sort of igloo over us.”

She almost dropped her feather. “They’re that big? Those bullets I swept up were in your _wings_?”

“Well, I still had to crouch for full cover. I heal quick. Lost my ensemble though, thankfully I skipped the waistcoat that day. The damage to my suit ran well beyond dry cleaning limits.” He drank from the bottle, shooting an eye again at her fidget toy. “Please don’t ask to see them.”

She nodded in response. “Okay.”

He put the bottle on the floor. “You aren’t curious?”

“Oh, I’m curious. But you don’t want me to see them. So it’s okay. I hope you feel like you can, someday.”

He started to offer her another refill, then hesitated, thinking about her own story. She gave him a grin, holding out her glass. He added just one shot to hers, taking another long swig for himself. “How are you feeling?”

Chloe held the glass up, but didn’t drink. She thought about her answer. “Curious. Worried. A little scared.” She looked up at him. “And thankful.”

He set his bottle on the floor and clasped his hands. He still looked ready to bolt, or worried she might. “About what?”

“Curious why you stayed. Worried you might never let your past go. A little scared of your power - who wouldn’t be? Thankful you’re in my life, that you saved me. What are you thinking about?”

Lucifer ran a hand through his hair. “I’m wondering why you haven’t run off already.”

Why indeed? “Lucifer, I can’t judge you by ‘human’ standards. Your actions while we’ve been partners speak louder than anything. I watched you rescue a kitten out of a tree when you didn’t think anyone was looking. I’ve seen you...coax, suspects into telling the truth. It’s true that most of the time I don’t ‘need’ you at work, but you do help move things along. You saved human lives, I’ve seen you do it. You’ve made a difference in my life, and I’m glad you’re here. So is Trixie.”

He didn’t look up.

She continued, “I don’t know if that means we can pick up where we left off. I need time to process what you are. I need to think about what it means for me to date someone who...will live forever? I guess? I mean, will I even see you again after I… die? That’s what you were saying about Charlotte, wasn’t it? That she really _did_ go somewhere you can’t.” _That’s something Dan should really know, but I can’t think right now of how to do that._

She watched his heart break all over again. “No, I won’t see you after you pass. I’m trying not to think about that too much.”

She tilted her head. “Me too."

Lucifer looked up again, finding her leaning closer to him. He jumped.

“I’ll be your friend, always. Right now I don’t know about anything else, but I know I like having you around. I know that everything I’ve seen of you, except maybe the occasional screaming suspect, clashes with what you’ve told me. Work might be a little strange now that I know...things if you still want to work with me.”

“I’m finding I prefer a working retirement.”

“I don’t think you’re evil. Maybe you really were a monster, but you aren’t now. I can’t imagine having that much time, but it’s obvious you’ve changed. I’m not afraid of you.”

Carefully, she took his hand, wrapping hers around his palm. He loosed his clasped hands and took hers. He had hope in his eyes for the first time tonight. Like every other pure emotion that came out of him, it was raw and naked and vibrant with life.

Ashes scattered. The hourglass spun.

He didn’t squeeze her hand, just holding it, rubbing a thumb over her knuckles softly. “I’ve done monstrous things. I don’t see how that means I can ever not be a monster.”

This answer came out easily, certain. “Because you would undo it all if you could.”

“Of course I would.”

“Lucifer, I’ve arrested monsters. I’ve put away monsters. I’ve suffered monsters. I’ve looked a monster dead in the eye and shook their hand because there was literally nothing else I could have done. I _know_ monsters. I’ve watched monsters walk away from the justice system, free and clear because I couldn’t shoot them in the back of the head as they waltzed out of the courthouse.”

He didn’t argue, this time.

“You’re not a monster. If you were, I wouldn’t be here. And I’m here.”

**Author's Note:**

> Contest Entry for Lucifans.TV Fanfic Contest 2018
> 
> *I have visited the memorial in Auschwitz. It's beyond words. Every human being on the planet should see it in person. They were right to put it right there past the train station. Every holocaust denier on the planet can suck my cock.
> 
> **Second note** - This story is specific to Lucifer and his status as a celestial being over a very very long history, and most importantly, that he's not human. For the record, all human rapists of any kind should be shot and dumped in the ocean.
> 
> You can probably tell I don't have a lot of patience for this kind of stuff. comments may or may not be moderated.


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